Deception
by Hatman-and-Robyn
Summary: Sherlock is invited to investigate one of the biggest cases of his career, a mass homicide. However, as the facts start to unfold, Sherlock gets a little more than he bargained for!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **_I Do not own any of the Sherlock characters/objects etc. Therefore making this a simple Fan Story ^_^_

**Authors Note: **_I've not written anything since 2009 (my only other story on here), and before that I haven't submitted any FanFiction since 2005._

_**- **__This story is based **After**__ Season Two of Sherlock. It's based way after everyone finds out he isn't dead. _

_All reviews and constructive criticism is welcome. I'm sorry if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes, I'm not going to make excuses, apart from sometimes I fail at things like that ^_^_

**Warning:** _This story will contain pretty mature content, I tend to write fairly dark things..._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One: Tetro-Whatzin?<strong>

"Bored... Bored... so VERY, VERY Bored!"

*Buzz*

_Sherlock, we've got a case that might be of interest to you. – GL_

*Buzz*

_Sherlock, if you're not busy it'd be nice if you could reply to this. –GL_

*Buzz*

_Sherlock, I know you haven't forgiven us, but we really would appreciate your help with this case. – GL_

*Buzz*

_Sherlock, It pains me to admit this, but we're really struggling. – GL_

*Buzz*

_Sherlock, Please. – GL_

*Buzz*

_Sherlock... Do the words, Multiple Homicide sway you at all? – GL_

*Buzz*

_And by Multiple, I mean an entire hotel... – GL_

"Finally..."

A small smile played across the recipients lips. _Today wasn't going to be dull after all_. Rising from his chair, and grabbing a coat, the recipient fired off a short text.

_I'm on my way. – SH_

He could barely contain his glee.

* * *

><p>It was early morning, and fog was still thick in the air as the black cab pulled up outside an old decrepit building. Hundreds of police swarmed around outside, taping off areas, collecting evidence and photographing anything that they deemed important. The occupant of the cab took a deep exhilarated breath and pushed open the door.<p>

Meanwhile inside, a Forensic Worker went round each room checking all the bodies, as he walked into the final room, he took a deep breath, his hands shaking uncharacteristically and checked the occupant momentarily for life signs "she's dead!... That's 53 in total... _Jesus". _

Stepping out the cab, the man ran a hand through his messy black hair and proceeded to pull his long coat closer around his body, there was still a chill in the air. _What a great start to the morning._ He paused for a moment, analyzing the scene, taking in every tiny detail, before marching importantly towards the main doors of the building. Not once did he flinch, or even acknowledge the protests of the officers who seemed all together confused that a member of the public was showing such flagrant disregard for the police. It's as if they didn't even exist to him.

"Sherlock!"

Through the commotion he was creating, a man with graying hair gestured towards him. "It's alright he's with me!" He added turning to the officers.

"Lestrade" Sherlock said curtly as he reached the door, "You have ten seconds to tell me why this case is worth wasting any of my precious time on"

"Well..." Lestrade began.

"Eight seconds"

"It's..."

"Five Seconds"

Flustered, Lestrade blurted out the only thing he thought would keep Sherlock there; "53 deaths"

"Very good Lestrade, you're getting better at cutting out all that... Talking that you do".

Ignoring Sherlock's comment, Lestrade continued, "Not all done at the same time mind. From the looks of things it's been going on for several months, there are various different corpses in different levels of decay, no apparent links between any of the victims so far... or at least none that we've worked out".

"Have you determined which the most recent corpse is?"

"Yes, we believe it's a woman in her twenties, we got a call off her family saying she was staying here, said that they hadn't heard from her in a few days and they were worried, that it was very unlike her"

"Thank you, Lestrade, for that pointless information! Now would you be so kind as to show me to the corpse, we're not getting any younger you know".

With a grimace Lestrade nodded and headed through the doors, Sherlock in toe.

* * *

><p>Inside the hotel, the smell of decaying flesh was strong, most the police and forensic team working the scene wore surgical type masks to try and detract from the smell. Without even a shudder, Sherlock simply pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and held it to his nose.<p>

"She's in there" Lestrade said nodding in the general direction.

Walking into the room, Sherlock saw a young girl lay on the bed. Her body was positioned as if she had merely fallen into a deep slumber and never awoken. But there was something odd about the whole scene, and Sherlock was struggling to grasp how nobody else seemed to be able to see this.

"How long has she been dead?"

"Couple of hours?"

"Who pronounced it?"

"Anderson... Why?"

"Oh this is too perfect" Sherlock smirked

"What?"

"I think you might want to re-evaluate your team, you see, dear Anderson has made a bit of a cock up"

"Again... What?"

"She's not dead"

"Anderson said she doesn't have a pulse, she isn't breathing, and she has no discernable heart beat... How is that 'not dead'?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You say she's been dead for several hours yes? Yet neither her skin nor lips show the palled grey blue color present when the heart is no longer able to pump blood round the body" walking over to the corpse, he pulled back her eye lids "usually after death the eyes go cloudy, hers are not... Yes the pupils are dilated, but they resemble that of a drug addicted rather than a cadaver ".

"Are you insane?"

"No, and if I'm right, which I always am, she's ingested a form of Tetrodotoxin..." he paused, seeing the look on confusion on Lestrade's face "It's... a type of neurotoxin found in the Puffer fish" he added, trying to dumb it down as much as he could. " If prepared right, it can create the illusion of death to an untrained eye such as Anderson or yourself... It paralyses the body, lowers the body temperature and slows the heat beat right down... If not treated it can be lethal, so I suggest you call a paramedic in here unless you really do want her to be number 53".

"Tetro...Whatzin?"

"Tetrodotoxin"

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Just get the Paramedics!"

Deciding to humor him despite what he believed to be Andersons better judgment on what constituted a dead body, Lestrade instructed a passing officer to fetch the Paramedics as quickly as possible. As they arrived, before they even had chance to examine the girl, Sherlock advised them that the woman wasn't dead, but merely poisoned. He told them, much to their displeasure that they should pump her stomach and then try to feed her activated charcoal to help bind the toxin in her system, and if possible an acetylcholinesterase inhibitor should be used.

"Is he always this irritating?" one paramedic asked Lestrade.

"Unfortunately, Yes"

"Do you want my help?" Sherlock interrupted "Because I have plenty of other things that could be occupying my time".

By this point, word had got back to the aforementioned Anderson, that Sherlock was here and openly questioning his diagnosis, still in his full forensic gear, he burst into the room quite disgruntled and about ready to start a fight.

"What the HELL is your problem?"

"Ah! Anderson, so good to see you" Sherlock smirked "come to condemn some more people before their time?"

"She's dead Sherlock! What you're doing is wrong... it's disrespectful, you can't just go round desecrating corpses like this"

"She's not a corpse Anderson, stop acting like you know what you're talking about".

"This is wrong" Anderson repeated, shaking his head.

"We've got a pulse!" one of the Paramedics called over the commotion. "It's very weak but it's there"

"Well Anderson, it would appear that in fact, it is what you are doing that is wrong!" Sherlock grinned.

"Quick, get her to the ambulance!"

The Paramedics grabbed the corners of the bed sheet the girl was lay on, and pulled it tight, using it as a make shift stretcher, bustling her out the room as quick as possible and down to the Ambulance. As they left, one of them turned to Lestrade and said "He may be a cock, but he knows what he's talking about".

Sherlock couldn't help but look smug as he watched the conflicted expression play across Lestrade's face. He always loved getting one over on Anderson, and todays was the best one yet, Anderson had no idea how much hot water he'd just gotten himself into, and Sherlock was tingling with anticipation at the scene that was about to unfold.

"Anderson, you're dismissed. Go home, this isn't going to go down well for you" Lestrade said in a saddened tone.

"But... But..."

"Just go, that was a careless mistake and you could have cost us our only witness so far, that's gross misconduct Anderson!" Lestrade interrupted.

"But..."

"GO!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **_I Do not own any of the Sherlock characters/objects etc. Therefore making this a simple Fan Story ^_^_

**Authors Note: **Shorter chapter than before, but I'm just getting back into the swing of things, hopefully the next few chapters will be a lot longer. Now that the stroy is really starting to take some semblance of shape.

_**- **__This story is based **After**__ Season Two of Sherlock. It's based way after everyone finds out he isn't dead._

_All reviews and constructive criticism is welcome. I'm sorry if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes, I'm not going to make excuses, apart from sometimes I fail at things like that ^_^_

**Warning:** _This story will contain pretty mature content, I tend to write fairly dark things..._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two: The Collector<strong>

"We've managed to get her stabilised. From what we can gather she ingested the toxin in some form of regulated dose, like a tablet? The levels in her blood were high, but not high enough to cause a fatality, providing it was caught quickly enough, which thanks to your colleague it was, though we don't know if the prolonged exposure has caused any... Permanent damage".

"Thank you" Lestrade nodded at the Doctor.

"She's not out of danger by any means, but we hope to see her conscious within the next few days, we'll be in contact when and if she is well enough for your police interview".

"Again, thank you... It's a big case and she may be our only witness!"

"We'll do our best" the Doctor smiled.

Letting out a sigh of relief Lestrade slumped back into the hospital waiting room chair running his hands through his hair. At least Anderson hadn't made a complete mess of things. They had a witness now... _Hopefully..._

* * *

><p>*Buzz*<p>

_She's stable, we have our witness. Thank You – GL_

Sherlock glanced at his phone, and then slumped back in his chair a little over dramatically. He'd been far too frustrated at the lack of _good_ cases recently.

"John, I'm bored!"

"You've just gotten a case, what's wrong with that one?"

"It's boring, it's dull, and it's lacklustre... Want me to go on?"

John sighed and massaged his temples momentarily. He'd given up reasoning with Sherlock a long time ago, especially when he was in one of these moods, which unfortunately he'd been in for months now. Almost every case Lestrade had come to him with; he'd refused or got bored of.

Sometimes John felt bad for the people Sherlock deemed unworthy of his help. He wondered if their cases every got solved, if the people ever got found, if they ever got to lead a normal life again... If they ever got closure? He knew Sherlock couldn't help everybody, but sometimes he couldn't help but have apathy for those that were too "dull" to be the ones he picked to help.

"No, no, it's fine Sherlock!" John said composing himself, and proceeding to pick a piece of lint off his jumper.

*Buzz*

_Sherlock, some evidence has come to light that you might want to take a look at. – GL_

The prospect of not replying played on Sherlock's mind, but the case still intrigued him, however slightly. Not that he was going to let on to that fact. He spun his phone round between his fingers several times before he finally decided to reply.

_What? – SH_

*Buzz*

_I think you should see for yourself, meet me at the Hospital. – GL_

_I'm busy. – SH_

"John, grab your coat, we're going to the Hospital"

"What... Why? Is everything ok? Is it Mycroft..? Molly..? Mrs Hudson?"

"Calm down John, I'll explain on the way".

* * *

><p>"Wait, so you're telling me... There is a hotel in London, with 50 dead bodies in it?" John said in utter disbelief.<p>

"52..."

"52, whatever... But there is a hotel full of dead bodies, and it's taken them this long to discover it?"

"Apparently so..." Sherlock said a little absently. He could already feel his attention to the case dwindling.

"Bloody Hell..."

In their time living together, John and Sherlock had dealt with some pretty unusual cases. But this was probably the most morbid John had ever had to come to terms with, and he'd not even seen the crime scene yet. The idea of an entire building full of dead bodies brought back uncomfortable flash backs of the war. Bodies of dead and dying soldiers piled on top of each other, collected and stored in a warehouse before being boxed up and shipped back home to be buried. That warehouse, as an army Doctor he'd seen too much of that warehouse. He felt a cold shiver run all the way down his spine, and acrid smell he'd tried so hard to forget lingered in the back of his throat.

* * *

><p>Sherlock shivered as he walked through the halls of the hospital. Sick people made him feel incredibly uncomfortable. Dead people, he could deal with and the grizzlier the dead person the better, for they had many wonderful uses within his work. It was just the slow process of getting there through disease and sickness that he disliked.<p>

As the two of them arrived at the ward, Lestrade waved them over.

"How's the witness?"

"She's doing Okay, but you should see this!" Lestrade beckoned Sherlock to follow him.

Inside the hospital room, the witness lay motionless in the bed, hundreds of tubes and wires adorning her hands and face. The heart and oxygen monitors beeping steadily in the corner. There was more colour in her cheeks, but her skin still looked palled and sickly.

"The forensic team have been trying to find some link between the bodies... The only thing we could find was this"

He led Sherlock over to the bed and pulled back the hospital bed sheets that covered the witness lower body. Then lifting her hospital gown he revealed a deep bleeding wound, close to her hip bone. It glistened ruby red in the light of the room. It looked as though someone had carved it out of her skin with all the grace and poise of a calligrapher. It was a letter "M" in bold gothic script.

"All the victims found had the same mark, in the same writing, in the exact same position on their body... But that's all they had in common" Lestrade sighed "That's all we have to go on until she is conscious".

_That's all they had in common_... That was all it took to finally trigger Sherlock's attention. They weren't dealing with a mass homicide, they were dealing with a collection of individual homicide cases, all bundled together and perfectly gift wrapped in that hotel.

"He's a collector" Sherlock muttered

"A what?"

"A collector!" Sherlock gritted his teeth in frustration "you say nothing links the bodies apart from the mark left on their bodies? Meaning I assume, that no one was murdered in the same way, am I right? I therefore conclude that whoever left the marks on the body, probably not the person who initially murdered them, is some kind of... Collector"

"So we're looking for more than one person?"

"Bravo Lestrade, you're catching on quick"

"How many people?"

"How many different murders?"

"Please say you're kidding me. That could be up to 50 people"

"52... 53 including the witness"

"Christ!" John muttered under his breath.

"53 possible suspects?" Lestrade said, in shock.

"Better get cracking " Sherlock smiled.

"I Think I need a cup of coffee..." muttered John

"Mmm, Me too, Black – two sugars" Sherlock said as he exited the room without another word, a spring in his step and the cogs of his mind churning out of control.

He could feel his pulse starting to elevate slightly, the case was turning out better than he expected and he daren't let on to John that he was excited, otherwise he'd lose all the fun he was having torturing John with his incessant complaining . The possibility of 53 different murders and their Puppet Master, started to get his adrenaline pumping. Since Moriarty had taken his own life up on that roof top, Sherlock had felt the passion for his work... _for deduction_ die with him. There was no challenge anymore. But this, this one was different. This was new and interesting. Maybe, just maybe, there was another "Consulting Criminal" that he could play with.

Finally, what had started out as something quite boring, was turning out to be _very, very interesting._


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **_I Do not own any of the Sherlock characters/objects etc. Therefore making this a simple Fan Story ^_^_

**Authors Note: **This chapter is a bit of back story to what happened between The Reichenbach Fall and now. There will be a few chapters like this, because obviously there needs to be some explanation to how Sherlock survived and everything eventually returning to normal.

_**- **__This story is based **After**__ Season Two of Sherlock. It's based way after everyone finds out he isn't dead._

_All reviews and constructive criticism is welcome. I'm sorry if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes, I'm not going to make excuses, apart from sometimes I fail at things like that ^_^_

**Warning:** _This story will contain pretty mature content, I tend to write fairly dark things..._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three: The Marksmen<strong>

After leaving the hospital abruptly, Sherlock and John had returned to their flat. Sherlock's mind was awash with ideas regarding the case, and he needed a quiet and familiar environment to compose his thoughts.

He settled himself on his favourite chair, eyes closed and fingers steepled just under his chin.

*Buzz*

_I'm out. Have John contact me when convenient. – MH_

Frowning slightly at the interruption, Sherlock checked his phone, assuming it would be Lestrade regarding the witness, _maybe she had woken up?_ He was most disappointed when he saw that it was just his brother.

"Mycroft's asking after you John"

"He's out of the hospital already? Oh God... He's actually going to kill me, isn't he?"

"No, no... I'm sure he understands, I am his brother after all"

"He was the one who sold you out in the first place Sherlock, I'm sure he'd have no problem disposing of me... After what I did".

John's face was getting paler and paler as sweat began to glisten on his brow. He took a deep breath to try and calm himself, but the uncontrollable shaking of his body made this near impossible to do. He hadn't felt this afraid in a long time.

"Sherlock, I'm scared..."

*Buzz*

_I'm sending a car, make sure when it leaves, he's inside. We need to talk. – MH_

"Oh don't be such a baby John. I realise that Mycroft was the one to sell me out, I wouldn't expect any less of him if he thought he could get something out of it... And if he had wanted you dead, he'd have done it already, believe me! So please stop whining, it's giving me a headache!"

"Sherlock.. I shot him!"

As the words tumbled angrily out of his mouth, John felt a sickness rising in his stomach. He'd tried not to think about that day, but it all came flooding back to him...

* * *

><p>John sat in the waiting room of the Accident and Emergency department. Deep inside he knew that Sherlock was dead... <em>who could survive a fall like that? <em> Yet here he was, perched at the edge of his seat, hoping and praying that when the doctor came out it'd be good news.

Through the haze, John heard a door opening.

"I'm sorry Mr. Watson... There was nothing we could do, he was already too far gone by the time we got him into surgery"

John didn't speak; he just rose slowly to his feet. He didn't hear anything the doctor said after that, as he walked calmly out of the hospital. His body was moving on auto pilot and it knew exactly where he wanted to go. Pulling out his phone, he fired off a quick text.

_Mycroft, Sherlock is dead. We need to talk. – JH_

It wasn't long before a black car pulled up alongside him, and he got in silently. He didn't utter a word the entire journey; instead he stared blankly out the window, his eyes unfocused and red. Eventually the car pulled up outside an abandoned warehouse. Mycroft Holmes stood just outside waiting for the car.

"Make it quick, I'm in the middle of something" he said curtly, as John climbed out the car.

"Your brother is dead!" John yelled, unable to control himself "Be a little respectful!"

"Yes, it is most unfortunate. Now is that all?"

John was in shock. He couldn't believe how cold Mycroft was being about the whole situation. _No wonder Moriarty called him the Ice Man... _It was Mycroft's fault Sherlock was dead. He was the one who had blabbed to Moriarty. John could feel the anger bubbling up from the pit of his stomach, and rising into his throat like bile. Before all he had felt was numbness, but now he could feel pure hatred pulsing through his veins.

Reaching behind his back, he grasped the handle of his gun that protruded from the top of his trousers and brought it in front of him. He aimed it directly at Mycroft's chest, his hand unshaken.

"This is for Sherlock"

He pulled the trigger once, twice, three times... and then he ran.

Mycroft looked only mildly surprised as he crumpled to the floor. He's body guards running to his side. His once white shirt quickly turned crimson, as copious amounts of blood pulsed out of the three bullet wounds.

"Just give the order and we'll shoot sir" his guard said softly "Someone call an ambulance!"

"No... It's fine, let him go. He's upset" Mycroft said weakly, as blood started to bubble out of his mouth.

His face was turning greyer by the second; blood was now trickling along the floor in little streams, washing away Mycroft's life as they went. His eyes were unfocused, and a thin line of blood ran from the corner of his mouth and down his palled cheek. In the distance sirens could be heard.

"Keep him safe..."

They were the last words Mycroft uttered as his eyes fluttered shut. Soon after, the ambulance arrived and loaded him quickly inside. An oxygen mask was placed over his face, as they exposed his chest and tied a tourniquet around it to try and stem the bleeding. By this point, john was far, far away from the whole situation.

* * *

><p>The car pulled up outside 221B Baker street, and John gingerly got inside. His palms were clammy and he his head was full of terrifying thoughts about what was about to take place., but he knew he had to confront Mycroft after what he had done.<p>

As the car finally pulled up, John was directed into an elegant looking Victorian era building. Inside, he saw a lone figure silhouetted against the bright lights of the window they sat by. It was Mycroft. As John got closer, he saw how frail Mycroft looked, there were deep purple lines under his eyes, his skin still pale and sickly looking. He'd lost a lot of weight too. A walking stick rested against his side.

"Mycroft, I'm sorry" was all John could mutter.

Mycroft looked at John and smiled slightly.

"John, I intend you no harm. I just wanted to speak with you about this whole... situation"

"...I'm sorry" he repeated

"John, I understand why you shot me. But that's not why I've called you here"

"It's ... It's not?" John said flabbergasted

"No, it's in regard to Sherlock's most recent case... there is something very... unsettling about it, I'm worried he's going to be in over his head, especially after everything that's happened... I just want you to keep a close eye on him, let me know if anything... suspicious happens"

Mycroft rubbed his chest in an absent minded manner; he could feel the raised ridges of the surgery scars under his shirt. John was quite the marksmen, and had done some pretty permanent damage.

Mycroft's recovery had been slow and painful, and he still wasn't out of danger. He'd had a third of one of his lungs removed because of the extensive damage of the bullets. Two of his ribs had been so badly shattered that the doctors had to replace them with a plastic alternative. He'd had hours of painstaking surgery on his spine where two of the bullets had reached their final trajectory causing nerve and muscle damage.

Despite what John had done to Mycroft, he wasn't angry. He knew why John had done it, and it reassured him that Sherlock really did have someone so loyal in his life, someone who looked out for him. Mycroft didn't know how much time he had left, it was already a miracle that he survived the shooting, and often he felt like he was living on borrowed time. He needed have precautions set in place in case he didn't fully recover, to make sure that his brother remained safe, because despite what Sherlock though, Mycroft did love him.

"Oh... Ok... well, erm" John coughed awkwardly "still I'm sorry, if there's anything else I can do to make up for what I did..." he trailed off.

"Just keep Sherlock safe, I don't think I could take another shooting if any other harm came of him" Mycroft smiled.

John just nodded, before turning to leave. He knew that if he stayed any longer he'd probably make a fool out of himself by apologising to Mycroft repeatedly. What was done was done. He was still angry at Mycroft for what he did to Sherlock, but Mycroft never deserved what had happened to him, what John had inflicted upon him, and it was something that John would regret for the rest of his life.

Climbing back into the black car, he fired off a text to Sherlock.

*Buzz*

_I'm still alive. - JW_

* * *

><p>Sherlock smiled as he read the text, not because John was alive, but because it meant he would be home soon, and they had work to do on the case, especially after the tantalising text Lestrade had just sent.<p>

_Excellent, now come back, I have some news. - SH_


End file.
